


Hefted

by sherlockian4evr



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221Bs, Anal Sex, M/M, Office Sex, Wall Sex, bottom!John, garden sex, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:<br/>Kinkmemers, two facts are well known.<br/>1) John Watson, while made of badassery, is not a very large man. He's not outright short but no denying he's SMALL.<br/>2) It's been established in canon that Sherlock, despite being a gangly giraffe of a man, is stupid strong (the unbending-the-firepoker incident has been brought up a few times aready).<br/>Knowing these facts: Obviously Sherlock needs to straight up PICK UP John and fuck him against the wall.</p><p>Beta read by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110">Sherlock1110.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hefted

**Author's Note:**

> I chose to write this in the form of four 221Bs.

The first time it happened was after a case. They were both high on adrenaline and Sherlock had been his usual amazing self. The moment they entered the flat, John had pressed Sherlock up against the wall and taken a kiss. He invaded Sherlock's mouth with his tongue and the heat of it left them both gasping. Abruptly, Sherlock took John's biceps in his hands and flipped them so that it was John pressed up hard against the wall. Long pale fingers opened his flies, shoved both jeans and pants down, down, down and John stepped out of them after toeing off his shoes. Sherlock had produced lube from somewhere and was slicking up his cock. John didn't have time to wonder when he had taken it out as Sherlock promptly shifted his attentions to preparing John. Sherlock opened him up swiftly with firm, but gentle insistence. John felt his head rocking against the wall behind him as he fell headlong into sensation. He was moaning and panting and crying Sherlock's name. The head of Sherlock's cock was pressing against John's entrance and John had the presence of mind to relax as it pushed slowly, inexorably into him. He was impaled on Sherlock's cock, sweaty and writhing against the unyielding wall. God! It was dazzling and overwhelming and ever so bold.

* * *

The next time it happened, was after one of Mycroft’s visits. He had wanted Sherlock to take a case for him - barely a three - but the potential client was well connected. Sherlock had impolitely declined and with a few pointed remarks, scathing observations and copious scratching at violin’s strings, he had chased Mycroft from the flat. John closed the door behind Mycroft’s retreating form, only to be pushed flat against it with Sherlock’s lanky form pressed up against him. In short order his trousers and pants were removed and Sherlock turned him round, lifted him and worked him open, using spit for lube. The speed with which it happened had John’s head reeling. Sherlock normally sulked after Mycroft’s visits, no matter how benign. This was a welcome, if unexpected change. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock and held on, overwhelmed by the difference in their sizes and the strength of Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock’s cock found its home in him and at his first thrust, John was undone. The raw primal nature of their actions was a heady aphrodisiac, and the slide of that talented cock against John’s prostate sent shivers through his body.

After they came and the aftershocks of their pleasure washed away, Sherlock laughingly said, “I already solved the case. Mycroft couldn’t!”

John laughed and exclaimed, “Brilliant!”

* * *

After that, it happened regularly. In the flat, at NSY, in alleys and, once, at the clinic. Sherlock walked in as if he owned the place, bypassing the nurses, to wait in John’s office behind the door. When John entered and was thrown up against the wall, he though that he was being kidnapped again. The lock of Sherlock’s lips on his neck and the slide of his hand around his lower back quickly convinced him otherwise. The by-now familiar lift of Sherlock’s arms as he hefted him against the wall, had John panting with need. He didn’t care if they got caught. He didn’t care if his patients had to wait. He was aching and hard and his thoughts were not in the least bit doctorly. Sherlock produced a tube of medical-grade lube that he had snatched on the way back, had their trousers open and his own cock released in no time. When John was open and ready, Sherlock allowed John’s body to slide down his chest. John’s entrance came to rest in just the right position. John wanted to fuck himself on Sherlock’s cock, but was held firmly in place, pinned against the wall. He tried, really he did, but John couldn’t remain quiet. He cried out, making unmistakable noises of pleasure. It was unfettered, unashamed and brazen.

* * *

The best time, so Sherlock thought, had happened during a trip to the Holmeses’. They had eaten, and chatted with his parents. John was good at that. Sherlock watched John interact with them with ease and his admiration grew. His heart was swelling, as was another bit of his anatomy. Suggesting they go for a walk, Sherlock took John’s hand and guided him outside, into the dark of the garden. He spied a tree that he had climbed a number of times. It was twisted and gnarled above a certain height and one side bore branches that provided ideal footholds, but the other side was smooth and provided just what he needed. He backed John against the tree’s rough bark and lifted him. John complained vociferously. He might not care what the Yarders thought, or just about anyone else. The Holmses were different. Sherlock’s insistent hands and mouth, soon overcame his sudden shyness and they were soon lost in sexual bliss. John didn’t want to be discovered, so he bit his lip, but little sounds of pleasure escaped him at each of Sherlock’s thrusts. When they were done, John hesitated, certain that The Holmses knew what had just occurred in their garden. He was so, dare Sherlock use the word, cute. He loved seeing John like this: sated, blushing and… bashful.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to podfic or translate this or create a drawing based on it, go for it. Just please let me know and link back to my fic.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr.](http://shippingintothenight.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Need For Forgiveness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980553) by [Sherlock1110](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110)




End file.
